


my heart is beating funeral marches

by tevinterhexe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevinterhexe/pseuds/tevinterhexe
Summary: It's not every day that you plan the beginning of the end of the world with your worst enemy.Unless you are Regis Lucis Caelum and an old hand at this by now.Big decisions are easy; it's all the small and seemingly insignificant ones that are the real problem.





	my heart is beating funeral marches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PikaCheeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/gifts).



> Probably the most self-indulgent fic I have ever written.
> 
> Big thank you to CoffeeFlower for the beta

The Citadel housed a significant number of guest quarters. In their time they had been host to all kinds of visiting dignitaries, domestic and foreign nobility, political allies and adversaries. At any given point a good quarter of them were occupied, but on special occasions, nearly all of them would fill up; like they would be, come the freshly agreed upon signing ceremony.

The news had barely had time to spread and yet, somehow, the rooms were already bustling with activity, servants preparing for the onslaught of visitors. They were scrubbing the floors, cleaning windows, airing sheets and blankets, beating the carpets, sweeping over stuffy, old bureaus, polishing door knobs until they shone, flitting through the hallways with a bucket in each hand, shouting orders or chatting amicably amongst themselves. Organized chaos is what it looked like to him.

And underneath all that were whispers and looks whenever one of them spotted their king wandering the halls.

On the rare occasions that had previously seen Regis visit one of the suites, Clarus had always been by his side. Today the Shield was with their sons, protecting his king not from external threats but from matters of the heart. He’d given his agreement, signed and put his seal on the preliminary papers, shook hands with their nation’s greatest enemy; he had released the brakes and set the wheel of prophecy into motion. He did that and he told Noctis about the marriage, and let Clarus deal with the rest — with that, he considered his part done.

 _Almost_ done. His hand clenched miserably at his side, weighed down by the burden of a ring and a future no longer under his influence.

He didn’t have to guess which one of the many guest suites would let him find what he is looking for, whom he was looking for. The ornate door opened to a set of rooms rivaling Regis’ own chambers in size and opulence. Outfitted in black and golds- Lucis Caelum colours, this particular suite rarely saw use. He passed through the anteroom and into the main living space, all seemingly empty; solely the flames dancing in the fireplace provided indication of occupancy.

“I don’t remember offering you accommodations”, Regis said evenly. He didn’t raise his voice, but was confident his words would reach their recipient regardless. “You intend to stay?”

“Not for long, I assure you”, came the answer from the adjacent bathroom. “Do you wish me to apologize? Feed you a line about forgetfulness or some such? Would a lie please you?”

 _‘You’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission, is that it?’_ No, he dismissed the thought as soon as it struck. It rang false, in the way of it going against the natural laws of the land. It was no more this man’s nature than it was for snow to fall in the summer, for fishes to take wing and soar throughout the sky. Understanding, perhaps. But not forgiveness. Never that.

“It would certainly not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“In that case…” The voice trailed off into a low hum.

Regis felt himself caught between a smile and a frown. He went ahead and sat down on the fireside chair while he waited, one second, two seconds, not expecting a continuation of their conversation but rather a deflection, a change of topics or some other diversion.

When it came, it did so in the puzzling form of Ardyn Izunia, chancellor of Niflheim, leaning against the mantlepiece, wearing Regis’ favourite housecoat — and seemingly nothing else underneath it — as well as a lazy smile that almost reached his eyes. His hair was dripping, soaking the expensive fabric around his shoulders; his face still flushed from what must have been a hot shower; he always liked the water scalding.

“Rendered you speechless already, my dear man?” Ardyn mocked.

“I do have words for you, don’t doubt that.”

Too many words. His silence stemmed not from a lack of things to say, but an overabundance of them. _‘Where does one even begin, now that we have come to this?’_

“And yet, I hear none of them.”

Regis sighed. Tightening the grip on his cane, he pushed himself back onto his feet. When passing by, his fingers grazed across the back of Ardyn’s hand, gentle as gentle can be. “Let’s not do this right now, hm?”

In his later years, taking unnecessary risks had become much more of a rarity than it had been in his youth; yet he did not know what else to call it whenever he turned his back on Ardyn. He was keenly aware of the man’s gaze following his steps as he went towards the door separating this chamber from the bedroom, of the lurking danger hiding underneath the facade. Darkness lingered behind those golden eyes and it send a thrill down his spine. Looking back over his shoulder—

A shadow flashed by.

“As always, not a bad word can be said about Lucian hospitality.”

His head whipped back around to Ardyn, who suddenly stood in front of him, took his chin into his hand and pulled him into a kiss. Regis did not reciprocate and he did not pull away. If doing so would encourage or dissuade Ardyn... he avoided thinking about that. Despite the kiss lasting mere seconds, when Ardyn broke it, Regis’ lips burned from their touch.

Ardyn studied him, eyes shining with curiosity and something rather more sinister. His thumb stroked a hard line along Regis’ jaw.

“No? Do you object to the kiss, or me calling you a glorified whore?”

Regis calmly pushed the hand away and told himself the feeling he tried to curb was indignation, not excitement. “No need to act like we don’t both know what you are here for. Or do you want me to tell you no?”

“Maybe not today,” Ardyn conceded, voice turning soft even though the rest of him did not — a coeurl might not always be on the prowl but it would always be a predator, and the same could be said about Ardyn.

He held open the door for Regis and gestured him inside. “Well then. After you.”

The bedroom continued the unfavourable colour scheme- black tapestry, black sheets on dark wood, accents of gold strewn in between, embroidered on pillows, tastefully placed candlesticks, dark curtains thick enough to drown out the light entirely when closed. It should be familiar. _‘So why does it feel like walking straight into the belly of the beast?’_

Ardyn cast off the housecoat the moment the door closed behind them. As predicted, he was entirely naked without it, but he still wore an air of confidence in himself — as protective as any piece of armour would be — that more than made up for it.

“I believe I am overdressed,” Regis said.

“I’m sure I can make do,” Ardyn answered with quiet mirth, tapping his finger against the side of his mouth in a thinking gesture . “Or... oh, that wasn’t a request, was it?”

More explicitly then. It was too early in the night to play right into his hand. “Undress me, Ardyn!”

“With pleasure.”

Two words, not even a whole sentence, and nevertheless it felt like he’d heard about half a dozen different lies and truths in just those few words. They reverberated in Ardyn’s voice, a perfectly satisfied and desperately hungry, toe-curling purr.

Delicately loosening the leather strap holding the ornate pauldron of Regis’ royal raiments in place, he exhibited unprecedented care when removing the item; taking his time with the clasps, stepping close to run his hands underneath the leather and lifting it off his shoulders and onto the back of a chair, instead of simply letting it drop to the floor. After, followed the sash at his waist, and the shawl and chain around his neck. Regis had to take off his crown or risk them getting caught in each other. Only this he dealt with himself — before allowing Ardyn to continue in his task.

“I confess, I expected more of a fight,” he said, looking closely at Ardyn to see his reaction. Ardyn might have known though, and kept his face neutral and focused. But that was its own kind of tell.

“I’m feeling generous,” he said, holding his gaze long enough to — presumably — make some kind of point, then turning around to fold and put away the items he had just removed from Regis’ body.

_‘Touchy subject? You are not getting sentimental on me now, are you?’_

“I would probably be foolish to think this might be your way of an apology. Possibly a present of some kind.”

All of a sudden, Ardyn was right in his face and a hand clamped down on his throat. “A parting gift for my dying king.” Half a dozen different lies, half a dozen truths. “Remember when I told you, I’m only looking forward to one death?”

It should worry him, the combination of Ardyn talking about death and the fingers against his neck. Perhaps it did. Regis was afraid to breathe in only to find out that he couldn’t, and so he refused to try. Though most unnerved, he found himself drawn in by the possessive case used. _My king_. He wracked his brain for another time Ardyn called him his... anything really, and came up empty.

“Maybe I was lying.”

His face was terror- black and terrible. The face of a man who would, if he could, turn his wrath into a flood enormous enough to drown the whole world in it.

“You’re not sure?”, Regis asked. The words came to him without thought. They spilled from him croaked and muted, on the last bit of air left in his lungs.

After that, he wasn’t quite sure what happened, how Ardyn reacted. His vision went blotchy. His ears were ringing. He lost feeling in his body, the sensation of cloth on skin, skin on skin. He missed the moment, that glorious moment, when the hand on his throat vanished, only recovering after a number of breaths — he was unsure how many — and exhales.

He lived. He lived because Ardyn allowed him to. Once, that had been a tough pill to swallow, but no more. It was what it was. If this had been meant as a reminder, it had been an unnecessary one. Unless Ardyn needed to remind himself.

Regis’ fist clenched and unclenched, willing his pounding heart to slow. It didn’t seem to get the message that the danger was over. And it _was_ over, was it not? He was on his feet, even though he wasn’t quite sure how he stayed upright during his blackout — his cane having clattered to the floor. And Ardyn, instead of being the living embodiment of a thousand bad dreams combined, kept an almost respectable distance between them, while calmly tugging on his shirt sleeves to remove the cufflinks. As if nothing happened, nothing at all.

One arm, then the other. _Ting_ , _ting_ , the cufflinks clinked a loud as church bells in the silence between them when he put them down on a marble tabletop.

“The cape next,” Regis said.

A nod, accompanied by an almost silent “As you wish”. Regis thought he was regaining the control over this encounter.

So nothing happened. Bizarre, how he felt so on edge. Pushing it aside, ignoring it, really was the only option. He didn’t so much as blink when Ardyn raised his arms, shoulder height. Only the back of his hands brushed along Regis’ neck, when he gripped the cape by its collar to pull it off. Tantalising, instead of threatening. One hand slipped from the collar down a shoulder and underneath the heavy folds.

With as much care as he showed before... before, Ardyn lifted the cape up and away, bringing it over to the chair where it joined the pauldron and shawl.

“It’s not so heavy and yet, look at you! Already standing straighter without it weighing you down”, Ardyn said, an unexpected warmth sneaking into his voice. He brushed through Regis’ hair, using his fingers as a comb.

_‘I can’t wait to feel those hands on my skin.’_

Instead of hands it was lips. Ardyn mouthed along his exposed neck. Reverently, he would have called it were the person in front of him anyone else. Lips travelling across his throat to the other side, to show it an equal amount of worship. Upwards until they meet his jaw, over his chin, avoiding — barely — to touch his lips to Regis’ own, cheekbones, temples, then he mouthed the shell of an ear, briefly so bold as to take the earlobe into his mouth and flick his tongue at it.

As his mouth moved up, his hands dived down. Broad strokes that reached all the way around the back of his head, thumbs brushing behind his ears and over his pulse on the way down his neck, past the shoulders, not spending much time on the still way too covered chest, except to precisely drag a single fingertip over the not even visible curve of each of Regis’ nipples.

“You are testing my patience,” he reprimanded as the hands settled on his waist and the barest of touches, where his lips moved back down his jaw, his throat, turned from nips to kisses to teeth dangerously close to digging into the soft flesh where shoulders meet neck.

Regis felt fingers press more firmly into him, hands dragging all the way down to his hips, saw Ardyn nostrils flare, and reminded himself to be careful, to not push too far. He didn’t know all the rules, he never did, but he could allow himself to be pulled in. For a heartbeat he considered giving up. What did it even matter? Theirs was a game that would cost him nothing to lose.

“Quite the other way around. This,” With a growl Ardyn grabbed a handful of his tunic and tugged on it, “is testing mine.”

 _‘Oh, it is an obscene amount of clothes, for sure. You are trying. You must want it more than even I do. How hard are you fighting the urge to simply rip them off my body like so many other times?’_ He took a calming breath and collected himself. It warmed his heart, in a way, to gauge the effort Ardyn put into keeping himself restrained, keeping himself from another outburst; the effort he put into trying to obey Regis’ initial order.

It was always possible that he’d read the man wrongly, but if he waited for confirmation to act on his intuition, he would stay rooted in place until the walls crumbled to dust around them. And that was not what a king must do. _‘Always pushing forward.’_

“That bad?” He held back on any sympathetic words, though. Alright, take your time. And: Trust me, I can get you there. Or even: We do it right, this time. There was a time for kindness; it just wasn’t now. “I expect more from you. Continue!”

When no immediate reaction showed, he wound a hand into purple hair and forced Ardyn to look at him.

There — a blink and he would have missed it — the tiniest of nods.

Ardyn wet his lips with his tongue then slowly divested Regis of his tunic. His hands went for the buttons of his dress shirt next but stopped halfway to first move in a semicircle around him and only continued once he was snugly pressed against Regis’ back, engulfing him in his arms, chin propped on his shoulder. It felt so intimate he almost wanted to pull away from it. As if trying to would do him any good. At least Ardyn seemed agreeable enough towards taking orders today. Though, as it was, there was no telling for how long it would last. The man’s mood could always turn in a matter of seconds and for no discernable reason at all. Better to keep that in mind. Once was enough.

Again Ardyn took his time, with each individual button popping out painstakingly slow. In contrast, the tension growing between them rose faster the longer Ardyn made them wait. His blood might as well have been replaced with hot, molten lava for he felt himself burning up from the inside. He longed to reach up, grab an arm or reach back just to hold on to Ardyn. But Regis stayed perfectly still. He could wait a little while longer. Restraint brought its own special kind of satisfaction, if one was so inclined. He’d never gotten a definite answer to whether Ardyn agreed with him on this. To get a good read on Ardyn had proven difficult, made more complex by his moods, unstable, always in flux — he could be the most patient man one moment and the exact opposite in the next. Regis had given up on predicting the shifts.

A sharp pinch forced his mind away from the divagating paths it had taken. Ardyn, having made enough progression on his many-layered clothes to bare his chest, gave a twist to the nipple caught between his thumb and middle finger and said, “Will you pay attention! That’s not too much to ask for, is it?”

Rightfully chastised Regis dipped his chin and let Ardyn read into it whatever it was he wanted to hear. The last button undone and his dress shirt dragged down his shoulders, the soft slide of silk on his skin closely followed by not so soft hands. Maybe he wanted no answer at all.

The belt went next, the individual loops a small torture for how much time Ardyn spent on each, but also for the accompanying touches that went with them, all applied with some pressure; to make Regis think he meant to leave grooves, carved into his flesh not by force alone but by repetition, not unlike paths worn into carpet over the years. Marks of permanence. Finally the belt dropped to the floor with an easy clank and Ardyn undid his fly — one-handed, because the second was still busy dragging across his flank until the skin turned hot and pink.

Hesitation, hovering over his crotch for a second, long enough his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed a mouthful of desperation when the hand moved on. It sneaked past the waistband and pulled down his pants. Here, reluctantly, Ardyn went down in a crouch, undoing the leg-brace, removing his shoes and socks, and to then help him step out of each trouser leg. Regis kept him down there for a bit with a hand on the back of his head, his own heartbeat drumming up a storm.

“So composed,” Ardyn said. “I feel the tension oozing off of you but it doesn’t show.”

 _‘It’s what you want.’_ Regis knew but didn’t say. _‘You could have me shaking and begging in your grasp, if you were of a mind to.’_

“Still no words?”, Ardyn asked. Regis grasped a few purple strands of hair and pulled, not hard enough too really hurt, just a warning. “You were not kidding earlier, hm? My presence here at this time must really ruffle your feathers.”

“Not your presence. Only what it represents.”

“I see. Still, in the end, we both want the same thing,” Ardyn twined his arm around Regis’ good leg and drew him close enough to effortlessly rest his forehead on Regis’ thigh, “you and I.”

“We are not all quite as impatient to get to the end, given the cost.”

“Oh, call it what it is, will you! You can continue avoiding it but that won’t change it. It won’t lessen your part in this play. Won’t make it any less cruel.” Ardyn’s grip had grown increasingly more brutal but his words sounded almost jovial. Regis braced for impact. “You always knew you would send your own son towards death.”

_‘Noctis…’_

It hurt. It hurt so much. Time hadn’t blunted the painful truth. It hurt as much as it had on the day he learned about the prophecy. He never went a day without this, reliving this pain. Every time he held Noctis, talked to him, watched him grow up he felt it. He imagined it as a dagger in the heart- each precious moment with his son another twist of the blade, keeping the wound always open, always fresh.

“That doesn’t mean I agree with your methods,” he said.

“Your methods take too long!” The anger burst from Ardyn like a firecracker and flickered out just as fast. Regis winced regardless, only now noticing the fingernails retreating from the soft skin near his groin, leaving deep indentations in their wake. “I’m merely speeding up the process. And talking about moving things along...”

Ardyn divested him of his underwear before he had time to react, before he could protest — or agree. He looked up at Regis, failing horrendously at a coy expression. “Bed?”

“I think not.”

Ardyn made to get back onto his feet but Regis shoved him down forcefully, kneecaps hitting the floor with an audible snap and a wince. _‘Does he even feel pain that way? Is he reacting to the memory of it or merely playing along? Making a sick mimicry of the natural response a living thing would have.’_

“What are you waiting for?”, he asked when Ardyn, gaze expectant, raised his eyes at him. “It should be quite obvious. I can’t fuck you like this.”

When he lost his hardness, he wasn’t exactly sure; might have been the blackout. Surely. Not that the whens and whys of it mattered. His cock hung limply, giving no indication of the fact that it had not so long ago been very interested in this evening’s proceedings.

“How crass”, Ardyn said in a tone of voice that could have been disgust. What Regis heard was praise.

For the most part, unavoidable mood swings aside, he had learned how to handle this man, had learned when he wanted him to let go and when to charge forward. He had learned that Ardyn had aversions and preferences like everyone else, that he could understand the difference, and that he sometimes just didn’t want to.

It was with that knowledge and understanding between them that he nudged Ardyn closer. He met some resistance but it was half-hearted at best. Ardyn sighed and Regis heard more than saw the shuffle of legs when he rearranged himself on the floor. Not much concerned for his comfort Regis didn’t give him much time. He gripped his cock and offered it up to him. The moment he did Ardyn abandoned his search to find a position that wouldn’t wreck havoc on his knees, opened his mouth and unceremoniously took him in. Not that impressive in its flaccid state he fit everything in without trouble.

Despite his distaste of the act Ardyn was exceptionally skilled at it — as he was at most everything they had tried over the years — if he wanted to. This wasn’t one of those times. Optimized for efficiency, not showing off skill. He pursed his lips to form a tight, round channel and let his tongue spread its natural wetness along the shaft for an easier slide, than didn’t waste anymore time, his head bobbing up and down, fast and ferociously.

The perfunctory nature of Ardyn’s mouth on his cock didn’t stop him from reacting almost immediately. Their trysts were seldom, Regis took no other lover, and he rarely indulged himself; a combination which had him panting harshly not long after Ardyn started. Soon he felt himself grow and harden, lips stretching further to accommodate him. To make up for no longer being able to swallow his entire length without constantly hitting the back of his throat Ardyn’s tongue dragged along the underside of his cock every time he pulled back, working it into the depression just below the head. He’d held it back for as long as he could but now Regis let out a low moan, his eyelids fluttering, almost dropping closed.

“That will do.”

Clenching his fist as to not lose himself in the pleasure, he stepped back, practicing self-discipline. It was too early to get this worked up and he knew he would regret coming now; no matter how good it would probably feel.

“Up!”, he commanded and helped to haul him back onto his feet. He pretended not to notice the eagerness with which he was obeyed.

Ardyn turned towards the bed but Regis held him back with a vice-like grip and a shake of the head. He mets Ardyn’s disapproving gaze with his own. The last piece of resistance. He didn’t wait for Ardyn to remember that not getting the things he wanted was what made submitting all the more fun. He guided him over to the left and forced him down over a chest of drawers, front pressed into its flat top, keeping a hand between his shoulder blades until the tension fled his body, muscles relaxing, air leaving his lungs in a noticeable sigh.

His hands fanned outwards, over Ardyn’s shoulders and along his arms. Taking both wrist he pulled them behind Ardyn’s back. Without needing to be instructed Ardyn crossed them and held onto each of his arms with the other. It prompted a hum of approval from Regis who looked him over with a satisfied little smile on his face. His cock showed its own kind of endorsement, jerking against Ardyn’s backside.

 _‘When all the fight goes out of him, that is when he is at his most beautiful.’_ Not that Regis would ever be fool enough to put voice to this thought.

But he was a sight. Head down. Face hidden behind a veil of wine coloured hair. Strong back turned soft, draped seemingly effortless over the wooden surface, all of that naked skin on display for him, red and raised where it strained around scars and old wounds, smooth and pink where it wasn’t. Regis’ eyes followed the straight line of his spine down to the ample curve of his ass, reaching forward to part the two globes and get a first view at his prize. Wetting his thumb on his tongue, then sliding it over the puckered hole, he watched it flutter and twitch at the sudden attention.

Just one more option to consider. He could give Ardyn a choice in this at least. “Do you want lube?”

The immediate answer he expected did not come. He saw Ardyn’s fingers flex, his shoulders turn up. About to repeat the question he heard an intake of breath, followed by a quiet “No”. It was barely audible but sounded sure enough. Either way, Regis would not ask again.

Lining himself up took all but a second, then he pushed inside. It was a tight fit, painful almost, once he first hit resistance, Ardyn’s body unaccepting of this intrusion, trying to drive him back out. He pulled back a bit, only to thrust forward with additional momentum. Unprepared as Ardyn was they would get nowhere without force. Still, he barely fit a centimetre or two inside before his cock struck obstruction again. If Ardyn hurt, he did not show it. Dead-quiet, breathing evenly. Though his face was hidden from Regis. He tried once more, even more forceful than before. Another centimetre yielded to him.

A soft sound made it past Ardyn’s lips then, “Amateur.” It might have been a laugh.

For the second time today Regis wondered whether Ardyn felt pain. Did the edge of the wood dig sharply into his pelvis with each rocking thrust? Were his arms getting numb and achy crossed behind his back? Did the rough handling tear at his insides, tormenting, torturous? It should. But did it? Did it? Did he hurt? He should. He should, but Regis couldn’t help but wonder. Wondered also, why he never realized just how much he wanted him to be able to, how much he wanted to be the one to cause him such pain, to brutalize and destroy him. Right now, just this once. _‘He wants it, too. You know he does.’_

He groaned as his cock pulsed in agreement, squeezed exquisitely in Ardyn’s tight channel.

Curling his hand under Ardyn’s waist, raising him up, he urged him to bend over backwards and jut out his delectable ass some more. At this new angle he could put more weight behind the thrusts when he forced himself into his waiting hole. Strength alone would get him through; finesse was useless. He gave Ardyn no time to adjust to the intrusion, now pulling out again after each entry, only to immediately plunged right back in over and over, fighting to go deeper, each individual centimetre a battle.

Blunt force won out in the end. Regis, breath heavy and eyes teary, gave a surprised moan, followed by a sigh of relief when he felt the struggle cease and he slipped the rest of the way in, finally bottoming out inside Ardyn’s ass.

By now, Ardyn’s breath was just as laboured and Regis saw sweat pearling his neck and shoulders, running down his skin to pool in the small of his back. An almost imperceptible tremble shook his arms. He clenched and tightened around Regis. What little Regis saw of his face was a mess. Beet red, and glistening with a sheen of sweat as well. The rest he couldn’t — or didn’t want to — make out. Down where they met... he didn’t look there but he expected that should he, he would find Ardyn rock-hard between his legs and dripping precome. So what if he prefered to keep in the dark, allow himself the illusion that instead of delight he might see suffering on Ardyn’s face, lips bitten bloody to keep in screams born out of excruciating agony; hurt so severe it would kill pleasure in even the most masochistic a person. Let it shrivel up his cock, balls retracted back as far as they could go without vanishing entirely. Let him thrash and howl and—

_‘You do this to me.’_

He never stopped. If he would have taken even a moment to step back, to think, he might have been horrified. Once he was fully seated inside Ardyn he carried on with renewed vigor; long, powerful strokes that felt heavenly against his length. He could do nothing except continue. It got easier with every thrust now, he thought as he slammed into him repeatedly. Fluid from his own cock paving the way, or maybe he had ripped and bloodied him inside. Whether it was that or Ardyn finally opening up for him, he didn’t care enough to try and find out.

When the gods saw fit to see his wish granted, he had stopped waiting for it, considered it one of those things that just wasn’t meant to be. But the night still had a surprise for him in store. And even then he almost missed it. Lost in the hypnotic push and pull of his steady climb towards the peak, he was ripped abruptly from his ecstasy by a sharp yelp coming from the man beneath him.

Regis didn’t know what had caused it and his attempts to bring about a similar response all failed. But he started paying closer attention to Ardyn again. He wrenched his head back by grabbing onto a batch of hair, enclosing his crossed wrists with the other hand. Ardyn felt cold and clammy to his touch, sweat adorning his forehead and brow, drops dripping down into his eyes and making him blink. There! Some human reactions even he could not seem to be in control of.

The unexpected show of humanity spurred Regis to further increase the speed at which the pistoned into Ardyn. Unlike Ardyn he held nothing back, moaning loudly and often, even swearing — though he’d deny doing so, vehemently, outside these rooms — when he shoved deeper into him at a particularly delicious angle or when Ardyn cramped up around him, providing the most stimulating environment to lose himself in.

Ardyn never met his thrusts but his body rocked with the force of them, slammed back and forth repeatedly with no way to brace himself against it. Regis attempts to keep him pinned probably only worked to increase the discomfort of skin against wood, of being dragged across the dresser’s surface with each movement.

“Is this, is this what you wanted?” Regis had to slow down to get the words out. His voice was wrecked, sweat beaded his brow. For now he rode the current, swept along by a wave of pleasure but exhaustion was laying in wait for him, ready to hit the moment he came down from this high. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Mercifully he likely didn’t have to. Just then he first felt it, how close he was, his movements having turned erratic as he picked up velocity, nerves buzzing—

There was nothing like it, that delicate instance before irrevocably tipping over, that one precarious split of a second of impermanence where anticipation and chagrin seem the same, loss and gain were indistinguishable. Nothing quite like it. Nothing even came close. His toes curled and he groaned, eyes dropping closed when his vision went white. Head falling forward, the way he fell into bliss, against Ardyn’s sweat-soaked shoulders. Brilliant relief. He mumbled saccharine nonsense, half-cooked words and broken sentences slipping from his tongue.

This was—

He felt—

Gods.

Just contentment, for the few fleeting moments it lasted.

Of course something — someone — had to spoil it, “If you are quite done then.”

Regis shushed him, unwilling to let Ardyn ruin the afterglow for him. He leaned heavy across him and didn’t relent even when Ardyn tried to buck him off; but at least pried Ardyn’s fingers away from his wrists to free them from the tight grasp where he had kept them crossed behind his back the entire time. Of course, Ardyn wasn’t trying very hard to get out from under him, or Regis would not have been able to stop him. Still pretending.

Eventually the exhaustion and a sense of stickiness clinging to everything won out over the simple comfort of just staying in place, just like this.

“I’m taking a bath. Don’t be here, when I’m done.”

He expected a retort, something snappy, a “why would I be” perhaps. A shrug was all he got and would have to be enough. Unusual, Ardyn was supposed to be the one leaving him speechless, not the other way around. It made him feel uneasy somehow.

As if reading his thoughts Ardyn chimed in, “I’m not the one with things left unsaid.”

“Neither am I.”

Their eyes met in a silent standoff. Ardyn’s head tilted ever so slightly to the right. He casually reclined against the chest of drawers, cool and collected; despite his nakedness not looking like a man who had been violently fucked but moments ago. There was semen running down his leg.

Suddenly gripped by an unexplainable dread Regis turned around and left the room.

“Last chance,” Ardyn called after him.

“It will keep.”

 _‘It will keep until next time.’_ Until next time. They could do it then, the next time they met.

He avoided looking at himself in the mirror when he turned on the water in the sink and splashed his face. Six, he really needed that shower — yet his feet carried him no further. His heart was racing. Reaching for a towel from the towel rail he brushed against one still drying there, the one Ardyn had used before Regis came to him.

There would be a next time.

He hadn’t said it.

The bedroom, of course, was empty when Regis walked back through the door. Well, not empty, his clothes still lay where they left them but Ardyn was gone. Vanished into thin air, because certainly he hadn’t left the way a normal person would. Like he’d told him to. And why shouldn’t he have?

Liars, both of them. The things left unsaid between them — none of which he ever could have realistically given voice to — could fill annals.

Except for maybe one thing. He could have said it; and he hadn’t.

They had parted the way they had met, as enemies, giving no courtesies. And if it hadn’t always remained the same in the space between end and beginning, well, that hardly mattered now, did it?


End file.
